


The Ones We Leave Behind

by notphilosopherstudentblog



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, post-Wilbur's Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-27 06:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30118776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notphilosopherstudentblog/pseuds/notphilosopherstudentblog
Summary: Wilbur Soot died and in the process, left you behind. Sometimes life gives you second chances.c!Wilbur Soot x gn!reader
Relationships: Technoblade & Reader, Wilbur Soot/Reader, captain puffy & reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	The Ones We Leave Behind

The oak floorboards creaked with hesitant footsteps, the dilapidated walls sighing with the wind. The cottage had long been abandoned, built for a pair who never occupied it, created for futures never experienced. The house breathed with a life never lived, one that caused an ache in the space underneath your ribcage.   
Sometimes, if you listen closely, you can hear Wilbur’s voice on the wind, whispers of the man you desperately held on to, yet simultaneously wished to forget.   
Sometimes, if you listen closer, you realize that those whispers of Wilbur are not Wilbur at all.   
“Are you alright?” In the past, Puffy had been a sense of comfort. Through rough patches, she had been the calm amidst the storm, the shoulder to rest on when things got too tough for you or Wilbur to handle. Her connections to Dream had been unfortunate, but her overwhelming kindness and sense of justice fostered friendship between the pair of you.   
Unfortunately, bonds break.  
She repeated her question once more, though she entered no further than the doorway.  
“I’m fine,” you mutter, turning your face away from her.  
Puffy had once been considered your closest friend, the one you went to about everything. When Wilbur had first started courting you, years ago when things were whole and your biggest concern was what Tommy and Tubbo’s newest shenanigan was, Puffy had been the one you turned to with all your flustered giggles and late night worries. When you had built the house, you and Wilbur, then you alone when the war took up too much time, Puffy had aided you, helping you gather resources and adding little decorations that had rotted away with the frigid winters and blistering summers. Puffy had always been there, longer than Wilbur, longer than Niki.   
But, like everyone else, she faded.   
After Wilbur’s death, everyone left, coping in their own particular ways. Niki threw herself into her work, building after building being erected on the SMP. Puffy sat by her side, waiting for the day that she set down her materials and was ready to rest. Techno and Phil retreated, returning to the cabin too far off to even think about going to. Tommy disappeared.  
And you…  
You sat. For a while, you sat in your house, not truly accepting that Wilbur was gone. And then, when his absence became overwhelming, when the walls covered in you and nothing of him began to close in, you left the town for the cottage. Its windows are pocket marked with holes and wind whistles through unseen gaps in the roof, but there are traces of him everywhere. You do not need a house that is whole when you feel him present. He is enough.   
“I’m worried about you, we all are. We haven’t seen you in a while.” Has it been a while? The passage of time is weird here. Hours feel like minutes, days like years. Time waxes and wanes like the moon and all anyone can be sure of is that it has been awhile.   
At least, you saw it that way.   
You mumble through a response, refusing to look her in the eyes. She stands, unmoving, in the doorway.   
And she talks. She talks about anything and everything, Niki’s newest builds, the reconstruction of Manberg, Tubbo’s new title. She mentions new people, people you may not have known. Connor and Foolish and Wilbur’s ghost.  
“I shouldn’t have said that.”  
“What?” You finally look at her and she looks afraid. Afraid and sad and heartbroken and feelings you have come to associate with talks with your friends. They skirt around mentioning Wilbur and they look sad.   
“Puffy, Wilbur’s ghost?” It is not a full question, but it gets the point across, given the way Puffy’s curls whip wildly as she shakes her head.   
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you about him, not until you were ready. Fuck.” She drags the last word out and rubs a hand over her eyes.   
“I’m ready Puffy, I’m ready. Tell me where he is.” You are significantly more lucid than before, eyes wide and you clear your throat. “Just tell me, I want to see him.”  
She looks at you warily, taking in your knotted and oily hair, your dirty clothes, the dilapidated state of the building that seemed to reflect your state of mind. “I don’t think I should do that.”  
“Puffy, please,” you plead, eyes desperate and hands clasped. “Let me close this chapter of my life, let me move on, please.”  
Whether it was your tone or your sad state, you have no clue, but something about you convinced Puffy to change her mind.  
“I-I don’t know exactly where he is. But, he spends a lot of time at Techno’s. Wait!” You attempted to run past her, but her body took up the door and it was a futile attempt. “Just wait a second! You’re a mess right now, are you sure you should go see him? Are you sure you’ll be okay?”   
“Yes, Puffy, I promise that I’m emotionally stable enough to visit the ghost of my ex-boyfriend.” You rolled your eyes.   
“No, I mean physically. You’re a mess. At least take a shower before you see him.” Looking down at your clothes, you realize that she was not wrong. Your shirt was stained in multiple places and your pants were unintentionally fraying. You looked like you had just crawled out of a grave, which was probably not the look Wilbur — or Ghostbur, as he was apparently going by now — wanted to see. 

An hour later, you set off for Techno’s cabin. It was not a path you were familiar with, but you were freshly clean, wearing new clothes, and armed with a map Puffy procured from somewhere. You felt prepared, ready.   
As ready as you could be, you supposed.   
The journey was slow work, too many hills, boat trips, and quick jogs away from mobs to be a trip you made frequently. But, the thought of seeing Wilbur again, despite his current state of being, motivated you along.   
Finally, when the sun was high in the sky and heading westward, you set your sights on the cabin, smoke rising high from its chimney, alerting you to Techno’s presence.   
Something must have tipped him off to yours as well because he opens the door before you are even close enough to knock and levies his crossbow at your chest. You raise your hands in an act of surrender, although you are not quite sure what you are surrendering for.   
“What d’you want?” Techno inquires, his voice almost as sharp as the arrow pointed at you. You raise an eyebrow.   
“I-I’m here to see Ghostbur.” He tenses and his finger twitches on the trigger. You are quick to add, “I’m his ex. I need to see him.”  
His lip twitches and finally, slowly, he lowers the weapon, though you see the way his body stays on edge. “He’s not here anymore.”  
“Fuck,” you whine, upset at the missed opportunity and the trek you made for nothing. Techno’s lip quirks into an almost smile, the scars decorating his face and his generally blasé expression making into more of a grimace. “Do you know where he is?”   
Techno shakes his head and your head tips back to look at the sky, as if the sun could solve your problems. When black speckles start filling your vision, you refocus on the man in the doorway. He offers what you can assume is an apologetic look.   
“He might come back soon, you can wait here if you want. ‘M gonna have to kick you out when night comes though.” You nod vigorously and the man opens the door wider, allowing you to draw closer. As you pass him, you look up and meet his gaze, no easy feat considering his height.   
“Thank you,” you mutter appreciatively and he nods, looking away. 

Techno offers a drink, which you decline quietly, eyes focused on taking in the inside of the cabin. The walls are plain and the room, from what you can see, is clean, though there is not much that could be made dirty within it. You could only assume there was other rooms where he actually kept things.   
The silence is awkward, neither of you quite sure what to say. The pair of you had never met before, being two parts of Wilbur’s life that he preferred to keep separate, and you cannot tell if you are thankful for that or not. All you can think to do is grasp at your shared connection in order to fill the silence.   
“What’s he like now? Is he different?” Techno’s head whips around at the sound of your voice, his gaze now trained on your face instead of the window.   
“Uh, well,” he clears his throat. “I don’t know what he was like with you, but…” He trails off.   
“But?” you ask, in an attempt to goad him to say more. The word hangs in the air like a weight.   
“He’s forgetful,” he says finally. “He’s forgotten a lot of his life, mostly the bad stuff, but sometimes…” he pauses.  
“Sometimes it’s like he’s avoiding stuff. He doesn’t want to be reminded of it.” You absorb this, staring straight at the table.   
“Does he ever talk about me?” The words are small and you are not sure you want to know the answer.   
“Sometimes.” A pause. “He doesn’t like talking about the war, but he likes talking about you.”  
You nod and focus your gaze out the window, eyes catching on a flash of yellow in the clearing you had passed through. A noise, strangled and confused, claws its way out of your throat and Techno follows your stare.   
“Is that-?”   
He nods in affirmation.   
You run. 

He is taller than you remember.   
He had never towered above you, though he was a decent bit bigger, but now his height coupled with the fact that he was levitating off of the ground added a few inches of differences between the pair of you.   
That is the first difference you clock, but the list does not stop there.   
He looks more well-rested, less sickly. The final months before his death he had begun to look like he was at his deathbed, which perhaps should have tipped you off. He is pale, always has been, but now he was practically see-through.   
He is wearing different clothes, a yellow sweater he definitely did not die in now adorning his torso.   
He looks better and you are not sure what to do with that information.   
“Hi?” He sounds unsure and his voice echoes, but you grasp onto the word like a lifeline.   
“Hi.” He stares at you and you are not sure why until you feel the drop of water roll down your cheek. Oh, you are crying.   
“Are you okay?” You nod, wiping at your tears like they have personally offended you.   
“Y-yeah, are you?” The second the question leaves your mouth, you feel stupid. “Of course not, you’re dead. I’m sorry.”  
He tilts his head to the side.  
“Y/N, are you okay?”   
You think it is the way he says your name, the way he did long before he died. In the months leading up, he used to spit it like venom, the word filled with misplaced ire. His hatred of the SMP, of Dream, had turned into anger at you, the helplessness he felt turned into disgust at the idea of coming home to see you every night. At the idea of you.   
And now he says your name like that, like love filled the very word, and something breaks inside your chest.   
Or maybe it was always broken and you just felt it now.   
“No. No, you don’t get to do that to me.” His brow scrunches and your hands are shaking. “You don’t get to-to ask if I’m okay, to be okay. I mourned you. I cried for you, I’m crying now! And you ask if I’m okay?” You are tripping over your words now, feelings you did not even know you had spilling out of your throat. You have opened something buried deep and you cannot turn it off, no matter how much his expression makes you want to.   
“You made that choice, Wilbur! You chose to destroy L’Manberg, you chose to die. And you left me behind with that choice.” His eyes widened and he stumbled away from you as if physically fleeing could protect him from the ire in your voice. You meet his frantic gaze, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I hope it was worth it.”   
You turn and you run, leaving him stunned behind you.

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say thank you so much to @quackitree on tumblr for allowing me to be involved in her writing event! Please go check out the other creators involved, their works are fantastic and I know you won't be disappointed.   
> That being said, thank you so much for reading this, I'm actually pretty proud of it? It's pretty long and I'm so happy I finished it :D please let me know what you thought, comments make my day!


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